


Schlaf hilft beim Nachdenken

by Cherrytreegirl



Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [3]
Category: Das Boot (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol Induced Amnesia, Hoffmann is still very dense, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Still bad at tagging, The Strassers are just mentioned, Unreliable Narrator, WWII, blink and youll miss it, enemies to not enemies? but very slow, he draws the wrong conclusions too, no beta we die like Sam Greenwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrytreegirl/pseuds/Cherrytreegirl
Summary: Sometimes confusion can easily be cleared up through a simple conversation. And sometimes it can't, then you'll just have to come to your own conclusions.(Continuation of Alkohol führt zu Verwirrung)
Relationships: Klaus Hoffmann/Karl Tennstedt
Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118996
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Schlaf hilft beim Nachdenken

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3, here we go!  
> I may or may not have let my own opinion about a certain Austrian author's abomination flow into some characters again, I'm sorry but not really. The book is just that bad and you can't tell me that every Nazi back then read it and said, wow this is a true masterpiece of literature!  
> Anyway, have fun!

“What is it?”

They had just finished their dinner, Ehrenberg and the other men had either returned to their station or retired, only the Kaleun and 1WO remaining at the dimly lit table.

“What do you mean, Kaleun?” 

“What. Is. It?” Hoffmann asked again, voice hushed so the others didn’t hear but firm enough to give the air of importance. “You’ve been giving me this weird look all day. Is it just that you don’t trust in my capability? Or do you have any other complaints?” He had tried to ignore it as much as possible but it was driving him insane. It almost felt like Tennstedt was watching his every move just waiting for him to slip up, as if to rub it in his face that the 1WO was more experienced than him. And so, he decided, the best way to find out why Tennstedt was behaving this way, was to just ask him.

“Absolutely not, Kaleun.”

Then, is it about last night? Did I punch you when I was piss drunk, or something?”

“N-No…?”

“Tell you embarrassing stories from my childhood?”

“No, Kaleun.”

“It can’t be because of that damned book. Please tell me you’re not developing a superiority complex because I haven’t read my father’s book.”  
Tennstedt looked at him as if he’d just told a ghost story in Russian or something, well perhaps not Russian, the1WO would look a lot angrier then, but he looked incredibly confused. His brows were furrowed and he opened his mouth, closed it again after a second, repeating the process twice, not saying anything though. A bit like a fish, Hoffmann thought, it almost made him chuckle but he collected himself, that really wouldn’t be appropriate right now and probably confuse the poor man even further.

“You haven’t read ‘Mein Kampf’ either, there is no reason to have this holier-than-thou attitude.” He realized that the comparison wasn’t great, the one book was a staple piece for U-Boot commanders, the other was the brainfart of an Austrian extremist who just so happened to be the Führer. If Tennstedt was a psychic that thought would likely have gotten him executed, but Hoffmann didn’t believe in supernatural Hocus-Pocus.

Tennstedt remained quiet.

“Oh god, you have read it? You have, haven’t you?” An obedient soldier like him, the Kaleun should have known, or at least suspected, well, sometimes Hoffmann’s brain didn’t consider before speaking. But why was he just babbling away now? He was usually calm and collected around people whose opinions mattered. If he was honest, he didn’t really understand why he even cared about the reason Tennstedt was acting strange, he could have just told him to knock it off and be done with it, but for some reason he wanted to know, to understand what made these blue eyes look so uncertain, so lost. Had he just realized how blue they were, or had he remembered that they were? Hoffmann couldn’t say. Given though, how dim the light was, and how far away (it was only a meter, probably half between them, but it seemed way too big a distance) Tennstedt sat, he probably remembered rather than saw. But when had he found that out?

“No, Kaleun, I haven’t, it is unreadable.” The Kaleun was rather violently jerked from his thoughts but immediately relaxed at the realization that he wouldn’t be tried for insulting the Führers book, the likely most convinced Nazi had just described it as unreadable after all. 

Tennstedt spoke again, quiet and almost softly. “You don’t remember?”

Hoffmann looked at him, waiting for more words to come out, for an explanation of what he was supposed to remember.

“Last night. You don’t remember the…” Tennstedt trailed off.  
There was an undertone to his voice that Hoffmann wasn’t able to interpret, it was both relief as well as a hint of disappointment, the latter was very faint, but still felt overwhelmingly present. As if Tennstedt didn’t want it to be there but couldn’t suppress it. He didn’t know why but he suddenly felt like what he had forgotten was extremely important to Tennstedt for some reason, perhaps he’d told him of worries or fears, something very close to him either way and Hoffmann had just forgotten, he felt incredible guilt welling up in his chest.

“Remember the what?”

“Nothing, Kaleun. Good night.” With that he stood up from his seat and left. Hoffmann wanted to get up and stop him, force him to spit out what had happened but he ultimately decided against it. If Tennstedt didn’t want to tell him now, fine, but he would get his answers one way or another.

A thought that came to him later, after he had retired to his cot too, was that perhaps it hadn’t been Tennstedt that had told him of his worries but rather that he himself had told his deepest darkest struggles to the 1WO. What if he had started crying? Wept in front of Tennstedt, over his terrible relationship with his father, how he never felt good enough, how he had never felt that paternal love, never had had that Father-Son-bonding experience that most other men he’d met in his life always spoke of. Hoffmann soon dismissed this idea, both because he couldn’t bear the embarrassment of having cried, shown such softness, in front of the great supersoldier Karl Tennstedt, but also because that didn’t seem to fit with the disappointment in Tennstedt’s voice when the latter had realized Hoffmann didn’t remember much of the evening. He’d probably have looked a lot smugger all day, celebrating and making Freudensprünge over having found flaws in the perfect Hoffmann Jr. if he had done something as embarrassing as he was imagining.

No, that wasn’t what had Tennstedt so shaken, Hoffmann was relieved but it didn’t help the situation much. He still had no real idea what he had forgotten. And after more rummaging in his clouded memories, he decided that he wouldn’t achieve anything tonight and might as well rest.

When he woke up from his slumber hours later, he found that the fog in his mind had lifted a bit, as if the intense digging had at last worked at loosening the barricades the alcohol had put in place, similarly to how, when one pulls and pulls on a jammed door with enough persistency and aggression, either the hinges give in or the bolt snaps free from the lock.

Hoffmann now remembered that they had looked for Tennstedt’s hat, and they had been quite clumsy at it, definitely more than a bit tipsy. Another thing he remembered was a feeling rather than a scene. A feeling of warmth, of intimacy, nostalgia but also hunger and need. A feeling he had only experienced once before but now craved deeply, wanting to dive into it and hide underneath the waves of raw emotion. 

He remembered the touch of soft lips on his, fingers gliding through his hair, the rush of adrenaline down his spine.

But, although it felt real, he wasn’t certain it had been, or if he had perhaps just dreamt that. The Kaleun hadn’t gone to the brothel, it simply wasn’t his style and he found it rather unsanitary, but the only woman he had met that night had been Strasser’s sister. 

Surely, he hadn’t.

No, it simply wasn’t right and even drunk him should have known that. 

He didn’t know her and it certainly wasn’t acceptable for the Kaleun to go around sleeping with his crewmen’s siblings.  
Since he only remembered a kiss and nothing more carnal, in that case he was quite sure he hadn’t just forgotten, he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to marry her or pay supports for any possible children. But even a kiss wasn’t appropriate, he had no choice but to blame this gross indecency on his intoxication and he would have to apologize to her as soon as they returned to La Rochelle. And pray she wouldn’t tell her brother.

Not only did he want to avoid any possible personal hatred from his radio operator, arguably one of the most important men aboard a U-Boot, but he also didn’t particularly fancy a fist to the face. It had happened to him once, at about 12 years of age, he had asked a girl from church if she would like to come over for tea, he had really wanted to show her his collection of boat models that he had spent months assembling, but apparently her older brother did not like that idea and little Klaus had returned home with fist sized bruise and a hurting jaw.

Now, Frank Strasser was a good few centimetres shorter than him, but one would be wrong assuming he didn’t punch hard enough to knock even a man like Tennstedt out cold. (When had Tennstedt become his scale for everything? It wasn’t really important now but it confused him nevertheless.) A black eye or a dislocated jaw most definitely wouldn’t be a good look for a Kaleun, especially one as young as him, it would give the impression he didn’t have his men under control. 

But as much as he was uncomfortable about the threat of Strasser’s wreath coming down on him he was glad that more of the evening had now been cleared of the fog. Tennstedt’s behaviour was still a mystery to him though…


End file.
